White Roses Shan't Die
by simplekitten
Summary: what if it was erik who had died instead of christine and he wants her to join him. through his horse seems like the only way when he can't do it himself physically. oneshot


**White Roses Shan't Die**

Disclaimer- I do not own POTO. Got it? Good.

Can you believe that semester one is almost over? I can't. wow time flies while your doing homework I guess. I GRADUATE THIS YEAR!!!!! good for me. I can't wait to buy the dress and shoes. I hate shoe shopping though.

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Anyway Bride Of Allegiance should have a new chapter by the middle of November for all you who are interested. At the same time my new story Leather And Lace - an Edward scissor hands fic should be up too. I am a very busy person you know. Are you not exited? I am.

This is a very short tear jerker so ready your Kleenex boxes ladies...and gentlemen

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She had returned to bury him- Erik with the opera Don Juan Triumphant he had wrote for her, sung for her, with her. The sensual opera never completed that day the chandelier was cut loose in the grand opera houses red velveted theater. His most prized opera, his life long goal was buried in his coffin after it was salvaged from the fire, burnt and corners curled she still did it. 

Maybe, just maybe wherever he was heaven or hell he could complete it when she too died. It just seemed right, no appropriate to give him his last masterpiece in death. Hopefully, he would wait for her so they could finish it together.

There was no doubt in her mind that she loved him, always would. Erik had been a possessive man but she felt thrilled in his presence. exited. He was a mystery in which she was drawn to. There had been only two times when she felt alive in her entire life and they were when she was with him. once when he sang music of the night to her upon reaching his domain under the opera house on the murky lake when she let him run his hands over her body. Wherever he touched her that night her skin burnt for him in pure need. Twice, when on the middle of the bridge during that magnificent opera of his as they sang point of no return. How weak he had made her. A puddle of jello is what he had turned her into as the seductive lyrics ensnared her, as his large hands guided hers to touch herself in ways that certainly weren't right but with him everything seemed right as long as he was with her.

And she had given him up when he had released hr saying, vowing never to forget him. Oh lord, if she knew she would have turned on her heel and begged for him to take her away, to hide her from everyone and everything in his dark sanctuary.

Instead she chose Raoul. She had found out three months too late that though her every wish and desire were given she was never truly happy. Raoul had tried his best but to no avail did he thrill or exit her in the ways that Erik had. Life with her childhood sweetheart was peaceful but not satisfying. She wished she could have gone back to the lake shore kingdom but it was impossible now. Erik died at the hands of the Parisian police that had caught up with him a week after the uncompleted performance of Don Juan. When she had read of Erik's death in the Epoque she refused to believe it true. She was a mess for days, still was, not eating properly, not caring what happened to her, hanging onto life with less than a thread and looking more drawn by the day.

Reining in her immaculately groomed bay mare she dismounted at the tall iron gates for the entrance to the cemetery where her father was buried, where Erik was buried. A bit of the lace from the bottom of her Grey skirts caught on the silver stirrup and she carelessly yanked the fabric free.She had been here the day before yesterday to receive silent council from the spirit of her dead father, but today she had come because she had neglected Erik's grave and thought it unfair. Raoul had told her that visiting the phantoms' grave was a waste of her time and unneeded but she had fought with him on the matter now he didn't even try to stop her anymore.

Upon reaching the steps to her father's marble grave she sat down on the cold stone laying the white roses on the step above her, Erik's roses were in her arms waiting to be placed on his headstone. Bowing her head she whispered quiet words to the chilly autumn air that promised snow as her full-bodied chestnut hair lifted in time with the breeze of a northbound wind. The snow white roses above her trembled as if the cold bothered them.

The sounds of an impatient horse reached her ears and she turned back to look at the way that she'd come thinking that her tall mare had followed her into the cemetery up to her father's grave but found no such horse. Stamping hooves rung across the quiet landscape followed by a snort.

Turning around to the noise a very tall black horse stood staring at her even taller and more well built than her own horse. Raoul's horse. She knew this horse. It was the one Erik had used to bring her down to his elegant little boat. The beast was unmistakably Erik's'.

She heard that the fire had spread and took the stables up in flames and that no horse had been able to survive so why did this horse stand not fifteen feet from her, hadn't he too found a fiery death?

Apparently not. The midnight colored horse seemed to be waiting for her. Who else would it wait for. Erik was dead. prancing a few steps in her direction it tossed its head and gave a whinny. She put her hand out out to it but it tossed its head again as if to say 'no. come with me.'

Humoring the equine she stood from the ice covered steps and gave it a sweet smile. Out of one large brown eye the horse studied her as she came closer and closer placing a white gloved hand on the thick neck. Erik had never voiced the horses' name before so she felt at a loss in a strange sort of way.

After allowing itself to be patted a few times the black horse seemed to bow at her as it folded its legs beneath its body so it lay on the ground offering her a ride. She didn't see any harm in taking the equine up for its offer. Besides her last ride with the horse was rather delightful.

At the feel of his riders' small hand clenched in his mane he got up with a graceful effort and a heavy frost-blown snort and slightly shook his great head as frost accumulated on his eyelashes. Taking a step as if weighing her out he gave another whinny then started to weave around the monuments and statues heading away from her fathers' mausoleum.

Tightening her grip in the whithers the horse adapted a slow, easy paced trot as it side stepped patches of ice and low headstones. If one was to pass by the cemetery one would think a wife was visiting her husbands' grave instead of the black-cloaked woman's last ride. picking up speed fast the horse lunged its great body foreword narrowly missing a statue of a praying angel. Its sharp wing ends just grazed the flesh of her leg bared only by the wind lifting her Grey skirts.

Leaping over a large headstone the horse landed with a heavy thud. Opening her eyes back up a gasp escaped her rosy lips. They were heading for the cliff. Trying to turn the beast around she yanked back but to no avail did it have any effect. They kept thundering foreword and all she was able to do was hold on for dear life and watch the cliffs come closer to not be there at all.

She screamed as the horse's tangled mane left her fingers. Crushed white rose petals floated gracefully from her lap as Christine followed the horse down to her rocky grave. A sickening thud rang through the chilly evening air as her entire body cracked when she hit the bottom. Blood poured from her partially impaled body staining the fleece-white snow a dark ruby red.

Wheezing a few short breaths her heart stopped, eyes rolled back to stare emptily up at the grey sky which started to cry delicate snowflakes.

Time stopped for a long moment as the echo of screams died down to just nature noises.

A hand passed over her lifeless form seconds later bringing a springtime warmth. A separated feeling was felt. A breath was taken. Her head fell to one side as she struggled awkwardly to raise her body to a sitting position. Foggy, dark eyes rose to see a man dressed elegantly in black. A half mask finely detailed of crystal clear white covered half of his face.

"Erik" The whispered name tumbled from her tongue.

Smiling the way he did Erik held out a gloved hand to her. "Come to your angel of music, Christine." Standing she placed her hand in his open palm. Wrapping his long fingers over her small hand he brought her closer and turned making her follow, just like when he led her down the corridor after retrieving her from the other side of the mirror.

A gust of wind picked up blowing snow off the cliffs' top. White petals were soon to follow mixing in a silent orchestrated ballet as snow twirled and twisted about the petals. Erik took his horses' loose reign holding his beloveds' hand even tighter as they faded into the white ballet to sing an opera far from forgotten.

The body of Christine was found the very next afternoon by an elderly couple. Her death was written up in the epoque. Much like his wife who could't believe of Erik's death the vicomte couldn't believe of hers.

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Kinda sappy and short i know but it was bugging me. Just to clarify this, Erik's horse killed Christine so they could be together. T hanx for reading 


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